


To Face Unafraid

by ACertainZest



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACertainZest/pseuds/ACertainZest
Summary: (Season 4) It's almost Christmas, and things had been going pretty well between Castle and Beckett. But now a new complication has developed...





	1. Chapter 1

'Twas the week before Christmas, and Rick Castle was moping.

This was certainly not his usual mood for this time of year. December was usually his favorite month, a month he spent spreading relentless good cheer to everyone around him; but this year there was a distinct lack of cheer emanating from Castle, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by his ever-observant daughter. On this particular evening, Alexis had offered to skip her planned movie night with her friends to keep him company instead, but he had refused and sent her off, assuring her that he was fine and she shouldn't worry.

At least the second half of that was true. There was no need for Alexis to concern herself with her father's personal problems.

Problem, that is. Singular. He had exactly one problem, and its name, of course, was Detective Kate Beckett.

He stood in his kitchen, wearing his Christmas apron ("Head Elf"), baking Christmas cookies. Some might say that it would be impossible to mope while baking Christmas cookies, but Rick Castle was a talented man. He moped while cracking and beating eggs. He moped while rolling molasses ginger dough balls in sugar. He moped while cutting out reindeer shapes and carefully applying mini chocolate chips as their eyes. And after the first batch of cookie trays went into the oven, he wiped down the countertop and washed the dishes, all the while moping over her.

Kate Beckett.

The object of his affection. The thorn in his side. The mystery he so badly wanted to solve.

Just a few short weeks ago, things had seemed to be going so well. Beckett was slowly healing from her shooting last spring; she still seemed somewhat fragile, but was getting better all the time. She hadn't panicked when they woke up handcuffed together in a dank basement. Indeed, they had worked together as smoothly as could be imagined in that basement, evading the tiger's grasping claws and escaping certain death through dedicated teamwork. They had even traded some sexually suggestive banter, which had lifted his heart (and other body parts) with delight.

It had felt almost like old times, back before her shooting, when Montgomery was still alive and they solved cases together and flirted and skirted carefully around each other. After the case was closed, she'd even dropped a hot innuendo about handcuffs and "next time" that had left him slack-jawed and speechless.

So he had been feeling very hopeful about it all. He'd even decided to invite Beckett to Christmas Eve dinner with his family. And yeah, he had a gift for her. Nothing huge or ostentatious, but still, he'd selected it with great care, and hoped she would like it.

But then they'd caught a new case, and everything had gone to shit. Because of _him_.

Eric Vaughn. The billionaire philanthropist entrepreneur _jerk_ who was currently occupying all of Beckett's attention.

Castle knew that it was wrong of him to be jealous. Beckett wasn't his girlfriend; he had no claim on her. She didn't even remember his declaration of love in the cemetery that day, which was fine; he had always planned to say it to her again when the time was right. He was waiting, like a gentleman, like she had asked him to. His eternally optimistic side was convinced that the moment would present itself.

It just hadn't occurred to him that in the meantime she might meet someone else.

Now the two of them were holed up together in a luxurious hotel suite, and the only thing standing between Castle and a solitary evening of painfully lurid fantasies was his faith in Beckett's professional integrity.

She wouldn't get involved with a man whose attempted murder she was currently investigating. Would she? No. Castle was pretty sure she wouldn't. But once they solved the case, all bets were off.

Gloomily, he removed a tray of cookies from the oven and slid another tray into its place.

If only he had told Beckett that he loved her, again. At some point when she wasn't bleeding to death in his arms; at some point when she would have had to hear, and remember, and react.

But no, he had held back - out of respect for her, and, to be honest, out of his own insecurity. Maybe his tender heart was still not fully, completely healed from the way she had disappeared without a word over the summer. But they had sat together on those swings, and she had spoken of walls and relationships, and he thought he had understood the subtext. He had thought ... that they both wanted the same thing.

Now he wasn't so sure.

He ate a warm cookie, scowling, thinking dark thoughts about Beckett and Eric Vaughn and hotels, and Christmas Eve dinner with his mother and daughter but no Beckett. He had even planned out a whole menu with Beckett's food preferences in mind.

Just as he was sulkily pouring himself a glass of milk to go with the cookie, his phone rang. Esposito. His skin prickled with alarm; why would Espo be calling him at this late hour?

"Castle."

"Yo," the detective's voice barked in his ear, rushed, the sounds of traffic in the background. "Get your ass over to the hotel. Sniper took a shot at Beckett and Vaughn."

"Sniper?" Oh shit, oh shit. His gut churning, Castle whirled into action, turning off the oven (that batch of cookies would be ruined, but no matter), whipping off his apron, dashing for the hall closet to grab his coat. "What the hell happened? What the _hell_ , Javi?"

"I know, I know. I don't know." Esposito was equally flustered. "Just get there." He clicked off.

Damn straight Castle would get there. He was out the door and taking the stairs two at a time, already texting the doorman to get him a cab.

* * *

Castle arrived at the Fairwick Hotel at the same moment as Ryan and Esposito, who leapt out of their unmarked cruiser and caught up with him at the door.

"What do we know?" Castle gasped as they fell into step, rushing for the elevator. The hotel lobby was festively decorated for the holiday season, wreaths and shining baubles wasted on the three men as they dashed through.

"Not much," Ryan replied, his voice clipped, tight with strain. "No injuries, though. State Police already whisked Vaughn away to a safehouse."

No injuries. No injuries. Castle slumped back against the wall of the elevator, his knees shaky with relief.

"Still," he said after a moment, meeting the other men's eyes in turn. "A sniper."

"Yeah," said Esposito grimly, his jaw set.

They all knew that Beckett was still not entirely herself yet; they had all seen her during the sniper case less than a month ago. Castle wasn't sure exactly what had transpired between Beckett and Esposito in the evidence room that day, but it seemed to have helped; but there was still that edge to her. She was still on shaky ground, although they all knew she would never admit it.

The elevator doors slid open. The two detectives and Castle exchanged one more look and stepped out. Ryan's phone rang as they strode down the hallway, and he lifted it to his ear, uh-huh-ing breathlessly as he kept pace.

The suite was just as luxurious as Castle had imagined it, and his mind dimly registered the two half-full glasses of champagne as he and the boys entered. CSU technicians were busily at work, and there was Beckett, standing with arms folded, watching a tech carefully digging a bullet out of the wall.

"Beckett," Esposito said, and she turned her head, offering the three men a tight smile.

"I'm fine," she said, but Castle saw that pinched look around her eyes, the careful tightness of her jaw, the way her hands were tucked into her elbows to conceal the tremors.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded. Ryan, pocketing his phone, answered before Beckett could.

"Looks like the shot came from across the street. Uniforms are canvassing for Barber, but so far nothing."

"How did he even know you and Vaughn were here?" Castle wondered aloud, and Beckett shook her head, sighing.

"I don't know, maybe he's been watching Vaughn ever since the attack at the restaurant."

"Beckett," said Ryan carefully, as Esposito moved aside to consult with CSU, "I hate to do this to you, but I need to take your statement."

"Yeah, it's fine," she replied, shrugging with careful, exaggerated casualness.

As Castle watched Beckett showing Ryan where she and Vaughn had been standing, his brow furrowed. The question came bursting out of him: "Why was he standing so close?"

Beckett looked over at him, her eyes hooded, her mouth a tight line.

"I don't understand," Castle went on, indicating the CSU tech's laser sight, which was currently illuminating in the air the path that the bullet had taken. "If he was standing there, the bullet would have gone right through his head." He tilted his head at Beckett, lifting his eyebrows to ask the question.

She took in a slow breath, closed her eyes briefly, and said, "He kissed me, okay, Castle?"

"He what?" Anger and hurt surged in him, tugging down the corners of his mouth even as he took in the unhappy curve of Beckett's shoulders, the way her gaze slid away and wouldn't meet his.

"I think I have all I need," Ryan said, trying to break in, but Beckett spoke over him.

"He kissed me, but it didn't mean anything. At least not to me."

"Well, if you didn't want him to kiss you, why wouldn't you push him away?" Castle asked, aware that his tone sounded unpleasantly whiny, but unable to hold back.

Beckett huffed at that, and shot him a look that he knew all too well. It was her _you're being an idiot_ look, and it hit him like a bucket of ice water.

"Oh," he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed of himself. "Which is why he's not dead." And Beckett was a grown woman. She could kiss whomever she wanted. It was none of his business. He turned away, his shoulders sagging.

"Castle," said Ryan, his tone sharper than usual, bringing Castle's head back up in surprise. His eyes sought out the detective, who was scowling at him.

"What?"

Ryan flicked his eyes significantly sideways, calling Castle's attention back to Beckett. She was still standing near the window, her arms now wrapped defensively around her torso, breathing shallowly, her eyes glazed as they stared at the shattered glass.

Oh. Shit. Castle didn't know a whole lot about PTSD or panic attacks, but he knew Beckett, and she was definitely not okay.

"Dude," said Esposito, appearing by Ryan's side. The two detectives nodded significantly at Castle, their meaning clear: _You take this. We've got the rest._

"Yeah," Castle agreed, nodding back at them, stepping forward. No matter what else was going on, he could still do this.

"Kate," he said softly, touching her shoulder very lightly with his fingertips. She startled nevertheless, twitching away. When she turned her face toward him, her eyes were huge, fearful, and his heart broke all over again. _Damn_ that sniper anyway. She'd been doing so well.

"Come on," he said, reaching out again, slowly, making sure she could see his hand coming. This time she didn't jerk away when he touched her, closing his hand carefully around her elbow. "Let's get your stuff and get you home."

The overnight bag that she had brought was in one of the suite's bedrooms, sitting untouched on the bed; she hadn't unpacked at all. Castle scooped it up and led her out, keeping his hand lightly on her elbow. She went with him, passively - unnaturally so. In the elevator, he studied her with concern, all of his other petty feelings fading away under a flood of simple, desperate protectiveness. He just wanted her to be okay.

She didn't say anything during the elevator ride, or the walk through the lobby. He wondered whether she might spook at going outside, but she didn't hesitate, walking through the doors without a hitch. They were in a taxi and on the move within moments.

He tried to keep his eyes off her in the cab, thinking that being stared at would only make her more anxious. But he didn't know what to do, his knees jiggling with nervous energy, his hands fidgety in his lap as he stared out the window.

She had pushed Vaughn away when he tried to kiss her. What did that mean?

When she spoke, it was so quiet he almost wondered if she was aware the words had slipped out. "I'm sorry," she said, and he shifted in his seat, turning to gape at her.

"Beckett?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, looking over at him. The wild irrational fear had faded from her eyes, and now she just looked tired and sad. "I'm so sorry, Castle."

"For what?" he asked, bemused, but she bit her lip and didn't seem to know what to say. Before she managed to find the words, the taxi was pulling up outside her apartment building.

"Come on," Castle said. "You'll feel better at home."

She climbed out, her movements slow as if her limbs were too heavy to lift. Castle quickly paid the driver and rushed to catch up with her.

Inside her apartment, once he had gotten her through the door and taken her coat off, settled her on the couch, and taken the overnight bag into her bedroom (carefully not looking around), he stood for a moment, feeling awkward. He didn't know what to do next. He didn't know how to take care of her in this state.

"It's okay," Beckett said, watching him from the sofa, hugging a throw cushion against her. "You should get back to your family, Castle."

"They're fine," he replied immediately, shaking his head, moving closer to take another look at Beckett. She wasn't fine, but she did look better than she had in the hotel room. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't need to, to call anyone, or...?"

"Not now," she sighed. "I'll call Dr. Burke in the morning."

"Who?" he asked curiously. Her eyes slid away, the corners of her mouth pinching inward. He could see that she regretted having let the name slip out.

"My therapist," she admitted reluctantly.

Castle struggled to keep his expression neutral. "Oh," he got out. "Um. Yeah, that might be a good idea."

She had a therapist? His brain was whirling with questions, but he knew that now wasn't the time. "Okay," he went on, "well, as long as you're sure."

"Thanks, Castle," she said, her voice thready, her eyes distant. He suspected she would be asleep within minutes after he had gone.

"Until tomorrow, Beckett," he murmured, and left. He was halfway down the corridor when he heard the locks and bolts closing on the other side of her apartment door. Good. Good. Whatever it took to make her feel safe.

* * *

Castle was at the precinct bright and early the next morning, and so was Beckett. She still looked tired, but otherwise seemed her usual self. He brought her coffee, and the boys brought them information, and the investigation proceeded. None of them mentioned the previous day's events.

When the signs seemed to point to Eric Vaughn himself as the mastermind behind the apparent attempt on his life, Castle did his best not to gloat. He fretted outside the door of the interview room while she was talking to Vaughn. He paced back and forth in the hallway, offering a bright, brittle smile to every officer who passed by, giving him curious looks.

Upon getting home the previous night, he'd discovered that Alexis had rescued the cookie-making production that he'd abandoned in his rush to get to Beckett. Alexis had thrown away the ruined batch of cookies, baked the trays of dough that he'd left sitting at the ready, and put the remaining bowls of dough away in the fridge, carefully covered with plastic wrap to keep the dough from drying out.

Grateful, he had gone upstairs to give his daughter a hug and hear her chatter for a few minutes about her friends and the movie and their holiday plans. Then she had gone to bed, and he'd gone back downstairs to finish the cookies and brood over Beckett.

Now, in the light of day, he was no less unsettled than he had been at midnight.

Beckett had pushed Eric Vaughn away when he tried to kiss her. And she was still seeing a therapist. And she had apologized to him. Why?

The door to the interview room flew open and Beckett came striding out, her expression steely with determination. Her heels clicked authoritatively along the floor as she strode toward the elevator. Castle's breath caught in his throat, thick and painful with how much he loved her, with how relieved he was to see her looking and acting like herself again.

Even Vaughn looked like a sycophant as he trailed behind her, Castle and the boys rushing to catch up.

An hour later the real perpetrator was behind bars, the sniper had been caught trying to get into Canada, and Castle emerged from the restroom to see Beckett and Vaughn exchanging a final few words by the elevator. He hung back, observing their body language as they spoke softly. They both seemed calm, relaxed. Vaughn's hands were in his pockets, and he didn't touch Beckett as they nodded to each other and separated, Vaughn entering the elevator, Beckett heading back toward her desk.

"Hey," Castle said, approaching her with a tentative smile. She looked up, and returned the smile, equally guardedly.

"Hey, Castle."

"So, uh," he gestured to the file folders on her desk, "I see that you're about to get started on the paperwork, which is usually my cue to leave."

Her smile widened, and she rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "Oh, of course. Heaven forbid you risk your unbroken streak of avoiding the paperwork."

He chuckled softly, and the familiarity of it was reassuring. They could still do this: solve cases together, and banter with each other, and feel normal. That much hadn't changed.

"Beckett," he burst out, reckless with the flow of relief, "would you join us for Christmas Eve dinner? We'd love to have you."

Her eyes widened and she stared up at him, a melange of emotions crossing her face so quickly he didn't have time to analyze or understand them. But then her lips turned downward and his heart sank even before she spoke.

"That's so sweet of you, Castle," she murmured, lowering her eyes again, "but I already have plans."

"Right. Of course." With an effort, he kept his shoulders straight, kept the smile pasted on his cheeks. "Of course you do." Of course. Eric Vaughn had beat him to it; had asked her out for a no doubt extravagantly romantic holiday dinner, and of course she had said yes. Why wouldn't she?

"I'm sorry," she began, frowning at his expression, but he shook his head, waving her off.

"No, no. It's no big deal, Beckett. You, uh, enjoy the holiday, okay?"

His muscles aching with the strain of remaining upbeat, he escaped to the elevator, sagging against the rear wall once the doors closed around him.

Damn it. Missed his chance yet again.


	2. Chapter 2

Christmas Eve Day arrived, and Castle was exhausted from the stress of maintaining his usual holiday cheer. He had done all his usual late-December activities: caroling at the children's hospital (where he wrote a large check), attending a performance of The Nutcracker with his mother and daughter, ice-skating with Alexis at Rockefeller Center, delivering his homemade cookies to the editorial staff at Black Pawn and to the doormen in his building. He enjoyed it all, but everything was overlaid with the sense of regret and frustration that welled up in him every time he thought about Beckett.

He had gone to the precinct a few times since they closed the Vaughn case, but it was quiet - unusually so. They only caught one case, and it was open-and-shut, solved within an afternoon. He tried to behave normally there too, joking and goofing around, trying to hide how uncomfortable he was in Beckett's presence now. But with no investigation going, Captain Gates's patience with him was even thinner than usual, so he didn't stick around much.

Midway through the afternoon on the day before Christmas, he was in the kitchen preparing the ingredients for the soup, with Alexis sitting at the counter doing homework, when suddenly she blurted out, "Dad, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, carefully casual as he measured out the herbs for his mise en place.

"You know what I mean. You've been moping." His daughter looked at him assessingly. "It's Detective Beckett, isn't it? I thought you were going to invite her to dinner tonight, but you only set three places."

"She had other plans," he shrugged, turning away.

"With her dad?"

"No," Castle said. "She mentioned a while ago that her dad would be out of town until New Year's. She's going out tonight with Eric Vaughn."

"Ohh," Alexis breathed. "I ... I'm sorry, dad."

"It's fine," he said, returning to the chopping board with a bunch of parsley. "It's no big deal." Alexis looked skeptical, but he looked her in the eye and said again, "It's fine." She shrugged, giving him a very teenagerly look of resignation.

As he began chopping, Alexis was about to return her attention to the textbook in front of her, but something caught her eye and she looked up at him again.

"Hey, dad," she said, pointing out the festively wrapped basket of cookies sitting on the sideboard. "Aren't those for the precinct?"

"Yeah," he sighed. He had intended to take them by yesterday, but somehow just kept putting it off. "I'll take them over tomorrow, I guess. After we open our presents."

Alexis narrowed her eyes at him keenly. "Okay, if you say so."

"I do." He squinted back at her, doing his best John Wayne imitation, and she burst out laughing.

* * *

A few hours later, Castle and his mother and daughter were seated around the table, which practically groaned with the results of his labors.

"Well, that was delicious as always, Richard," Martha declaimed, sitting back in her chair with a flounce. "My goodness."

"Yeah, I don't think I can move," Alexis agreed, rubbing her stomach and wincing. "Can we take a break before dessert?"

"I think we must." Martha turned to look at her son, her expression softening. "Richard. Darling, you're a million miles away."

"What? Oh." He blinked, looking at them apologetically. "Sorry, I was just..."

"...thinking about Beckett?" his mother finished for him with a shrewd look.

"No," he denied weakly, but of course it was true. He couldn't help it. He couldn't stop thinking about her and Vaughn. Right about now they were probably cozied up together in some fancy restaurant where-

"Richard!"

He groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry. Sorry."

"Dad," Alexis prodded, "why don't you take the cookies over to the precinct? That'll cheer you up."

"Yes!" Martha nodded agreement, waving her wine glass for emphasis. "That's a fabulous idea, darling. Go spread some holiday cheer to the poor souls who have to work tonight. It'll lift your spirits, and give us time to digest our meal."

"Yeah, when you get back we'll do dessert and stockings," Alexis chimed in.

He considered the idea. It felt strange to leave home during Christmas Eve dinner, but maybe they had a point. He did feel guilty about not having delivered the cookies to the precinct earlier. And it might make him feel better.

"Okay," he decided. "I'll do it." He put down his napkin and stood, gesturing to the abundance of food still covering the table. "You two can deal with the leftovers and dishes."

His mother and daughter groaned, exchanging a look. "No good deed goes unpunished," Martha groused in a stage whisper as he headed for the closet to get his coat.

* * *

The 12th Precinct was noticeably quieter than usual, despite the festive holiday decorations. Castle spent a few minutes chatting with the desk sergeant - and plying him with cookies - before proceeding into the elevator and up to the homicide floor.

There, all was equally quiet. He spotted a couple of uniforms in the interview room, playing cards. Captain Gates's office was dark and empty.

But as he walked toward the break room, bearing his armload of Christmas cheer, something registered in the corner of his eye. A flash of familiar brown hair that brought him to a sudden halt, surprise fluttering in his chest.

It was Beckett.

Seated at her desk, wearing her usual work clothes, studying her computer screen with a slight frown: it was Beckett, and he felt briefly dizzy as his whole world seemed to spin upside down.

"Beckett?" her name spilled out of his lips without his consent, and her head snapped up in shock as he stumbled toward her.

"Castle?"

"I..." He had no idea what to say. He stood by her desk, gazing down at her.

"What are you-" Her eyes shifted to take in the huge basket of cookies in his arms. "What's this?"

"Oh, I, uh." Awkwardly, he bent and set the basket carefully on his chair. "I made cookies. For the night shift." He straightened up again and stared at her some more. "It's Christmas Eve. What are you doing here? Where's Vaughn?"

"Who?" she asked, bewildered. The fluttering in his chest intensified.

"Eric Vaughn. Your date? You had a date with him tonight," he said stupidly, tasting the idiocy of the words even as they were flowing unimpeded off his tongue.

"No I didn't," she denied, slowly, but very firmly. "Eric Vaughn? Castle, we closed that case days ago."

"Yeah, but I..." He floundered. "I don't - Why are you here?" he asked again.

Indecision furrowed her brow briefly, and then she sighed and tilted her head, indicating the break room. "Come on."

Castle picked up the basket of cookies and followed her into the break room, setting the basket on the table while Beckett perched on a chair, her eyebrows still drawn down with disquiet.

"When my mom died," she began quietly, "it was January, and we hadn't taken the Christmas decorations down yet."

"Ohh," he breathed, suddenly sensing where this was going. He slid onto the stool next to her, his eyes glued to her face. She kept her gaze on her own fingers, twisting them around each other on the table as she spoke.

"By the time my dad and I did take them down, it was like we were putting Christmas away forever." She sighed, and blinked hard. "That's why, every year, my dad goes up to his cabin and I take the Christmas Eve shift. So that all the families out there can celebrate, and I keep watch. It's my Christmas tradition."

Castle nodded slowly, feeling the weight of it: the sorrow that Beckett had gone through at such a young age, and the way she had turned her pain toward helping others. Would he ever stop being amazed at the depth of her courage, her strength, her heart?

"I understand," he said softly. He leaned over and put his hand over hers. She pursed her lips and covered his hand with her other one.

Abruptly, the rest of what she had said sank in, and he felt his face heat up with embarrassment. "Beckett, listen, I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. I'm such an idiot."

"No." She lifted her head, and he was surprised to see a spark of indignation in her eyes. "No, Castle, I'm the one who should say I'm sorry. I ... I shouldn't have let you think that I..." She paused, biting her lip, and finished more quietly, "that I was interested in him at all. I never was."

"Okay," he offered, and it seemed like she had more to say, so he waited. But nothing more was forthcoming.

"So ... this therapist of yours," he said at last. Her head came up, her expression guarded. "He's, uh, helping?"

"Yeah." She nodded, though her eyes slid away and her hands detached from his, and he knew that she was embarrassed to talk about it.

She didn't want him to push, so he wouldn't. But it was clear enough that the therapy must be helping. After the panic attack, or whatever it was that he and the boys had witnessed at the Fairwick Hotel, Beckett had bounced back remarkably quickly. If her therapist had had anything to do with that, he obviously knew what he was doing.

But for now, Castle decided to drop it. He had more important things in mind, anyway "Kate," he said, tilting his head at her and waiting until she made eye contact again. "Will you come to dinner at the loft? Tomorrow, since you can't come today."

She blinked in surprise. "But it's Christmas," she said, knotting her fingers together again. "You should spend Christmas with your family. Anyway," she added before he could object, "this is an eighteen-hour shift, so I'll be pretty tired by the time I get home."

"Oh," he murmured. "Okay, well, the day after, then. Boxing Day dinner?" He gave her a hopeful look, trying for his best puppy-dog eyes.

It worked. She looked down at her lap, biting her lips, trying to hide her smile. "Yeah. Okay," she said softly. "I'd like that."

"Great." He couldn't contain his smile. "Awesome."

"Did someone say cookies?" asked a voice from the doorway. Castle and Beckett both startled, looking up guiltily. A few uniformed officers were entering the break room, looking curiously at them.

"Yes! Yes," Castle nodded eagerly, bouncing to his feet to unwrap the basket. "I just brought these over to say thanks to everyone, all the hard-working people of the Twelfth. Enjoy!"

There was a chorus of thank-yous as hands reached for the basket, and the cookies began to disappear at a rapid rate. Beckett gave Castle another soft smile from across the crowd, and turned to slip out. He made his way after her, smiling and slapping shoulders as he went.

In the hallway, they fell into step, heading toward the elevator.

"Once again you've made yourself the most popular person in the building," she murmured, amusement lifting her lips and making his chest swell with affection.

"Well, I am a pretty likeable guy," he responded, grinning cheerfully at her eye-roll.

"Modest too," she commented, pressing the button to summon the elevator.

"I-" he began, but then he glanced up and stopped, his mouth falling open slightly. The back of his neck prickled with anticipation.

Beckett followed his gaze and looked up, immediately seeing the mistletoe hung carefully above the very spot where they stood. She looked at him, her lips parting, a faint blush beginning to tinge her cheeks.

Castle took a moment to look around. The bullpen was completely empty; the card players in the interview room were hidden from view, as were the cookie-eaters in the break room. There was no one around, no prying eyes pointed in their direction.

When he looked back at Beckett again, she was smiling, that secretive little smile that she sometimes wore when she didn't want him to know that she found him funny, or endearing, or -

She cut off that thought at the source, rising onto her toes to press her lips against his. Only lightly, and only for a moment, but it was enough. It was everything.

The elevator doors slid open. Castle smiled at Beckett, and she smiled back.

"Merry Christmas, Beckett."

"Merry Christmas, Castle."

He stepped into the elevator and took the warmth of her kiss and the sparkle of her smile all the way home with him.

* * *

'Twas the day after Christmas, and Castle was full of good cheer again. His good mood was improved even further by the way Beckett's face lit up with astonishment as she entered the loft.

"Oh, wow, Castle. You really go all out."

"Yeah." He grinned, enjoying her reaction. He watched as she turned to take it all in, all of his decorations in their sparkly, shiny, twinkly, green-and-red glory. Last, but not least, her gaze fell on the tree and her eyebrows went up.

"How on earth did you even get that in here? It's huge!"

"There's a service elevator," he chuckled, taking the bottle of wine she'd brought from her unresisting fingers, setting it down on a side table so he could help Beckett off with her coat.

She broke away from gawking at the decorations at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Alexis appeared, already wearing her coat, with her purse over her shoulder.

"Hi, Detective Beckett," she greeted politely. "Dad, I'm meeting Paige downtown."

"Have fun," he said, giving her a quick hug before she departed with a wave.

"Mother went off to some theatre party," he said in answer to the question Beckett was asking with her eyes. "About which, the less I know the better."

Beckett smiled at the joke, following him across the room to the dining table.

"So ... it's just us then?" she asked, a little tentatively.

"Yeah." He paused, examining her face. "Um, is that okay?"

To his surprise, she grinned, her eyes twinkling. "Castle, we've had dinner together lots of times."

"Yeah," _but this is different,_ he thought, but said instead, "but never on Boxing Day."

"True," she agreed, still smiling as she took her seat.

They chatted about inconsequential topics while they ate: old cases, precinct gossip, the workings of the publishing world. It was comfortable and not at all awkward. Castle felt almost light-headed with delight each time Beckett laughed at something he said, or smiled at him when he refilled her wine glass, or let her fingers brush his when they passed dishes back and forth.

When the meal was finished, she tried to help him clear up, but he refused. "You're the guest, Beckett. Go sit on the couch," he ordered. Her eyebrows went up at the imperious tone, but she complied.

A minute later, he brought coffee over, and settled on the couch a few feet away from her.

"Thanks," she said, and as she sipped the coffee, he couldn't stop looking at her. In her soft casual gray pants and Christmas-red sweater, with her shoes kicked off and her feet curled up underneath her, her hair curling softly around her shoulders, she looked perfectly comfortable, and perfectly at home, here in his home. It was as if she belonged here. She was, he thought fancifully, as important a part of his home at Christmas as the decorations.

"Beckett," he said, and "Castle," she said at the same moment, and they both laughed self-consciously.

"I have a confession to make," he said, and her eyes widened in surprise.

"Really? _I_ have a confession to make," she answered, a hint of worry creeping across her face. "Me first."

"Okay." He took another sip of his coffee and put it down on the coffee table, watching her, waiting to hear what she had to say.

Beckett put her cup down too, and twisted her fingers together, bit her lips, rubbed her temples, fidgeted, clearly searching for words. Finally, frustration overtook her and she blurted out, "I remember."

"Remember what?" He stared at her, uncomprehending. She was looking at him now with such trepidation, such anxiety in her eyes that he was almost afraid another panic attack was coming.

"Everything. Everything that happened at Montgomery's funeral," she breathed out, her gaze fixed on his face.

"Oh." He blinked, his mouth falling open as he took her meaning. He hadn't seen this coming at all. She remembered? Everything?

"I heard what you said," she clarified, just in case he hadn't gotten it. "And, and I'm so sorry, Castle, that I lied to you." She sat forward, reaching for his hand, the words tumbling out faster and faster now. "I woke up in the hospital and I was just - I was just - so freaked out about everything. I didn't know what to do, so I lied to you and I felt terrible about it but I was such a mess."

"Kate," he said, squeezing her fingers, watching a tear slip free and roll down her cheek, chased by another. "You don't have to-"

"That's why I kept going back to Dr. Burke even after he had cleared me to return to work," she went on, almost breathless with the need to tell him all of this. "I was so messed up and I needed to be better. Because you said that you love me, and I love you, but I couldn't stand for you to see me like that. So I hid out at my dad's cabin all summer and I should have called you but I was too scared. So when I came back, I asked Dr. Burke to help me, and he has, and I'm getting better, but I know I hurt you and I'm so sorry."

She ran down, her face wet with tears, her body slumping back against the couch cushions as if all the energy had drained out of her with that outburst. Castle was left reeling, her hand still in his, his head buzzing with her revelations.

But there was only one possible thing he could do in response. He leaned over, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek, and kissed her.

When she parted her lips he could taste the salt of her tears, and the coffee, and Kate. He groaned softly as the kiss deepened and her other arm came up around his neck, pulling him in tighter.

After a moment she pulled away, staring up into his eyes in amazement.

"You're not mad?" she asked, barely a whisper.

"Mad?" He huffed incredulously. "You just said that you love me."

"I did?" Her eyes grew even wider, her forehead creasing as she mentally reviewed everything she had just said. "Oh my god, I did."

Castle laughed out loud at that, but then he saw the way her cheeks were flushing bright red, so he reined himself in.

"Kate, it's okay," he said, still smiling. "Last summer was ... a dark time for us, I guess. But look where we are now. How far we've come. How far you've come."

"Yeah," she agreed, a tentative smile touching her face in response. It was so gorgeous that he couldn't resist leaning in for another kiss.

But just as his lips touched hers, she pulled back. "Wait. You said you had something to say too."

"Oh yeah. Right." Dazed, he blinked at her for a moment, then darted forward to press a quick peck on her mouth before getting up. "Wait here."

She watched in bemusement as he dashed over to the tree and retrieved the final gift that was sitting underneath it. When he returned to the couch, her eyes were wide, her hand covering her mouth.

"Castle, I didn't get you anything," she exclaimed, dismayed. He shook his head, moving quickly to reassure her as he resumed his seat by her side.

"No, hey, it's okay." He took her hand again. "You're here; that's all I really need. Your presence is my present."

She groaned, shaking her head. "So cheesy."

"I know. Sorry," he grinned ruefully. "But come on, you gotta open your present. Here." He thrust it into her hands and sat back expectantly.

"Okay..." She looked uncertainly from him to the package, then shrugged and began to undo the ribbon. Castle practically bounced in his seat as he watched.

"Castle," she gasped as the wrapping paper fell away and the gift was revealed. "Is this ... oh my god."

"Yep," he bounced. "It's a mint-condition first edition copy of _Daredevil_ #168 from 1981."

"The first appearance of Elektra," she breathed, staring at the comic in its protective plastic wrapper. "You remembered."

"Of course I did. And it's signed by both the artists," he added, although he wasn't sure she heard a thing, as she gently removed the comic from the wrapper and reverently flipped through the pages.

"This must have cost a fortune," she murmured, finally sliding it back into the plastic and lifting her head to stare at him.

He shrugged, waving that off. "I know a guy. And I just … wanted you to have it."

"Thank you," she said fervently, and turned to carefully lay the comic aside on the coffee table before she surged against him, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and kissing him passionately.

He pulled her onto his lap and set about exploring every inch of her mouth, delighting in the feel of her body warm and vibrant under his hands. The gloom that had shadowed him throughout the first part of the month was entirely forgotten.

At last Beckett dragged her mouth from his and gazed into his eyes.

"Say it again," she urged, a soft smile curving her kiss-swollen lips, her eyes sparkling.

He felt his own lips stretching wide in an answering smile. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," she responded immediately, and leaned in again.

"Best Christmas ever," he murmured into her mouth, and she laughed low in her throat, and then there was no more talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year.


End file.
